Back to You
by veiledfairyy
Summary: After finishing High School, Rachel Berry moves to New York, leaving the sorrow of a recent heartbreak behind. A few years later though, when Noah gets in huge trouble with the Chicago police, it might be fate's chance to get him back in Rachel's life.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

It was mail call time. He didn't exaclty know why, but he was quite nervous.

Except he did kind of know why. It was because of _her_.

God, that girl had made his life so much better, but so much more confusing at the same time. He didn't even know how he felt anymore, and that kind of shit hand't happened to him for ages. Well, to be honest, he _knew_ how he felt. It's just that, at the same time, he didn't. He wished he could only see her, be with her, if only for one day; that might help, right?

It didn't matter anyway, because how in hell would he ever get to meet her in person?

"Mr. Noah Puckerman" the old woman with the ugly uniform called his name and he couldn't help but smile. Everyone else kept pushing him so that he would hurry up, so he did. Well, not really because of them; he didn't care about those assholes. He did care about _her_ though, and he knew, he just knew that letter had to be from her.

The woman gave it to him and he could feel Rachel's perfume subtly coming out of it; and there he was, smiling like an idiot once again. But can you blame him? He hadn't smelt that precious smell for almost two weeks. Prisons really suck. You send a letter and you're very lucky if your response arrives with no more than a week of delay.

"Move, dude!", some random ass shouted from the mail call line. Noah moved, took a few steps away from those bastards and waited for the officer to take him back to his cell. _His cell_; it sounded so damn ridiculous and sad to call it that, but that's what it was, wasn't it? It was his cell. And it would be for the next ten years, at least.

_Dear Noah,_

He started reading, after sitting down on the less comfortable bed in the face of earth. God, how he missed his bed. Or, you know, any bed that was not this one.

_I went to that audition I had talked to you about. It didn't go so well, I guess. I mean, I know I nailed it; I had the best voice of all the girls in there, that's for sure, but… You know, same thing as always – I've got the voice, the energy, I have got everything; but I don't have the looks. I didn't receive any of the phone calls I was waiting for yet, and I probably won't ever receive them. I have a few more auditions in sight for the next few days, but I don't even know if I feel like continuing doing this. I mean, I waste all my free time on these auditions, day after day, week after week, month after month. And I give everything I have but they just don't seem to think it's enough. Maybe I'm not enough._

_I don't know, I just really don't know._

_Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Noah!  
><em>_I just realized I wrote all this stuff about me and I haven't even asked about you yet. I'm so, so sorry! I'm so selfish, your life is so much harder than mine and… I'm sorry._

_Well, how have you been? Any news from your lawyer, or anything else? What happened to that man that was bothering you last week, by the way? I hope you followed my advice, Noah! If I hear you were violent towards him, I will be very mad. Remember, always be superior!_

_Well, I think that's all. I'll be looking forward to your reply._

_I hope, I really hope you are okay, Noah._

_Love,  
>Rachel<em>

His heart melted as he finished reading Rachel's letter. She was so amazing. And he was sure she was good enough for all those parts; well, he had never saw her acting or singing or anything but, according to her, she had a dramatic and brilliant voice and her acting was also excellent. Well, at least that's what she used to say when they first started talking; now she was so insecure. Of course he always told her she was amazing and that it wasn't her fault that those stupid producers or whatever didn't want her. But, in fact, he didn't know if that was true; so, she always won those little fights they had about her talent, and she always kept thinking she wasn't good enough. That's why distance sucked so much; he couldn't even help her or support her as he should, after all that she had done for him.

God, he would give everything to be in New York right now. He didn't really have a lot to give though.

He looked for a piece of paper and his pen, ready to start writing a response. But while writing the first two words - _Dear Rachel_ - those stupid doubts that were always assaulting him came back.

It's not that he didn't like this girl; he more than just _liked her;_ she had fucking changed his life. He had no idea if he would be sane or even alive if it weren't for her. That day she decided to start sending letters to a complete stranger who, by the way, was in prison, was the day that changed Noah's life.

But there was something that, since day one, made him feel extremely bad and even kind of ungrateful towards her: every single time they talked, well, _wrote_ to each other, he couldn't help but think about _the other Rachel_. Ever since this new Rachel told him her name, she automatically reminded him of Rachel Berry, his old _friend_ from high school. He thought he would get past that easily, but he didn't. The thing is, their name was not the only thing they had in common; they were so much alike each other. They both had huge Broadway dreams, they both were so nice and sweet and willing to help at all times, as long as it didn't affect the most important thing in their lives - their careers. And there were so many more things…

Sometimes, Noah wished Rachel – the one who sent the letters – was Rachel Berry – the one he _kind of_ dated in high school. At the beginning, just for a second, he actually thought that was possible. But then he realized it was absolutely ridiculous to even consider it; first of all, because there were millions of girls named Rachel in the world, and probably thousands of Rachels that dreamt about singing in Broadway; second of all, because he couldn't imagine Rachel Berry doing something like this, you know, instead of spending all her time singing and dancing on a New York stage; third of all, the new Rachel did not have the self-esteem Rachel Berry had. This girl had the lowest self-esteem; Rachel Berry was nothing like that, she always knew she was amazing, a real star.

Noah knew this Rachel was not _his_ Rachel from high school. God, he wished she was; it was awful to admit it, because he should just accept that he would never talk to Rachel Berry again, and maybe open himself up to the fact that there was a new girl, _a new Rachel_ in his life who might be even better for him that Rachel Berry.

But was there anyone better for him than Rachel Berry?

He wished, he just wished, as ridiculous as it might sound like, that they could just, somehow, be the same person.


	2. Ch 1  Feb 2015, Junior Year of College

**A/N:** The response to the prologue was surprisingly great! I could have never expected to get this many reviews/story alerts/etc so fast; thank you and please keep them coming!

So, the first chapter is here! I just wanted to say a couple of things, that maybe I should have said before already, but anyways... This is only the first chapter, so don't expect it to be very good. I promise the story will get better, this is just getting started and I have a lot of good ideas that I will try to make the most of.

Also, I feel like I should mention that the story will kind of jump back and forth between Rachel and Puck's college years and their Senior Year of High School. The time line of every chapter will be mentioned in the beginning of it, so no worries.

Oh, and about the rating, I have to say there probably won't be any mature material for a while, as the story has a lot of development to do before that happens, but I'm sure it will end up evolving to mature, which is why I thought I would just rate it as M from the start.

And I think that's it! Enjoy and please give me some feedback!

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 1 - February 2015, Junior Year of College<strong>  
><em>Where are you?<em>

Juilliard could not be any better; it was amazing. All the classes were so interesting and brilliantly helpful, all the teachers were so wise, all the students were so talented. It was the perfect college. Rachel Berry felt like she actually belonged there; she _did_ belong there and that felt so good and refreshing. The last time she had felt like she belonged somewhere this way had been when she was part of the Glee Club, in high school. Still, Ohio was definitely not for her, neither was McKinley High. And all that – Glee Club, Mr. Shue, Lima – belonged in Rachel's past. It had been almost three years since she had left that past to come to New York City.

And she was so glad she had done so because now everything was better. There was a school full of people who actually understood her and shared the same kind of dreams and thoughts, there were beautiful, emblematic buildings all over the city, there were marks of Broadway's stars everywhere. There was Broadway, God, _there was freaking Broadway_. That was definitely the best part. That was Rachel's dream. That was everything she had dreamt of her whole life. It was everything her whole family had dreamt of their whole lives. It was just _everything_. She loved this. She was in love with this city, with all the musicals she had been to, with all the classes she had attended, with all the songs she had sung… It was magical; it was the perfect city, the perfect college, the perfect teachers, the perfect classmates. _Everything._

But there she was, walking down Times Square with a warm cup of coffee in her hands, on that perfect city, on that perfect everything, and she didn't really feel like everything.

She felt like _nothing_, actually. There had been years since she had arrived here, and it was perfect, it was everything she had expected and even more. But it was so perfect that it was too perfect. In Lima, she was the talented one; there were a dozen of other talented kids, but still, she was the best. In Lima, she was confident because she knew that every time she walked in a room she was the most talented person there; every time she sang a song, she knew she was the only person at that school, and maybe even the only person in that state, that could sing it as perfectly as she did. Now, she was in New York City, at Juilliard, and everyone was talented. She wasn't the most talented anymore, she wasn't the star anymore. Everyone was talented and everyone was a star and everyone was as competitive as she was. And most of them were also so good looking. Rachel knew looks were not her forte. All her life, her parents had told her that she was beautiful; however, they had always taught her that looks didn't matter, especially because she had such an unique talent. And she believed them. She always believed that, as long as she kept singing and taking care of her beautiful voice, she would be famous, she would be a star.

Now, she realized that maybe those dumb high school kids who kept pushing her down, telling her that she wasn't good enough, not even to date a football palyer, migh be right. Maybe she wasn't good looking enough for show business, just like in high school she wasn't good looking enough to be with a popular boy. But she had dated popular boys and now she would do just the same; she would take all the chances and go to all the auditions and castings until finally a show producer realized how much she was worth.

Yes, that was what she was going to do. Every day, she told herself that she had to do that, even if her confidence was lower than hell, even if she kept getting _no_s shoved in her face. She could not waste this. She was talented and amazing and, one day, someone other than her dads would see that. Someone had to.

Every single day though, her confidence lowered a bit more. And a little bit more the next day; and then some more. And now, God, now she had almost none. Every _no_ she received was a stab in her sef-esteem. And she was so tired of it. She wanted high school Rachel back. She wanted to be like she was before. She wanted to have dreams bigger than the universe and do everything to make them come true, always with a smile on her face. Now, she had no more smiles to fake and, every day, she kept wondering if maybe the time to give up had come.

Was it time to give up?

* * *

><p>Noah lived in Chicago. When he graduated from high school, he had moved to this new city to start over, focus on football and try to graduate as fast as possible, so that his life could actually start. He wanted to have a job, a good one; he wanted to be able to pay his own bills and to take care of himself. He was tired of depending on people – first, he had depended on his dad, who had abandoned him and his family when he was still a child; then, he had started depending on his mom, and he still could barely do anything without her help; a few years ago, he used to depend on Rachel Berry as well, but that's a whole different story.<p>

The point was, he wanted his life to go somewhere. He didn't really plan on being very successful or anything, that didn't matter at all. He just wanted to be able to pay for a house and food and to have a few bucks in his pocket; that was it.

In fact, he had always been like this; he didn't have a lot of dreams, didn't want to be famous, rich or a superstar. Maybe that was why he and Rachel Berry had never worked out back in high school; he wasn't good enough for her. She was meant to be a star. She was meant to be everything, _dammit_, and he was… Well, he was probably meant to be ordinary, normal. And normal had never been enough for Rachel, had it?

Right now, Noah - well, _Puck_ or _Puckerman_, as everyone called him – was lying on his bed in his college dorm, trying to relax after an awful football practice. And, God help him, he was thinking about Rachel again. When was he going to stop thinking about this girl? When was he going to stop wondering where she was, who she was with, or if her dreams were coming true?

God, he hoped they were. He hoped she had everything she had ever wanted. If he hadn't been enough, if he hadn't worked out for her, he wanted her to have everything now.

But what if she had a boyfriend?

She probably had hundreds of guys chasing after her.

_Shit._

"_Stop thinking about her! Just stop it, dammit_" he told himself. "_It was like, three years ago, dude. She probably doesn't even remember you anymore. Knock it off._"

Making himself forget about Rachel had never really worked out for him, but luckily something else was just about to make him leave those thoughts alone for now. Justin - Noah's ridiculously nerdy roommate - had just walked in with tears on his eyes, once again. Puck would have probably made fun of him in any other situation, but not this one.

The thing is, a couple days ago, Justin's girlfriend – yeah, even this geek had a girlfriend but Noah hadn't had one since Rachel – had been found dead behind the campus' bleachers. The cops had said she was murdered, and they were now trying to find out who had done it. Noah didn't even know the girl, but even him was a mess when he saw her corpus. Yeah, Noah Puckerman, major badass, let go a couple of tears when he saw a girl he had never even met dead; so sue him. It was not his fault. He had feelings, dammit; most of it the time, it might not seem like he had them, but he did.

Right now, for instance, he felt compassion or whatever they called it for Justin. Man, he really felt bad for the dude. And for the girl too. And he had to admit he also felt a bit of fear sometimes; well, it was not like he wasn't sleeping at night or anything, but he was kind of worried. What if that killer was still around? It could be very dangerous, right?

"You okay, dude?", he asked Justin. Well, he knew he wasn't okay, but it's nice to ask stuff like this when you know someone's are not very well, right?

"Fuck you."

"What?"

"I know, okay? I know what you did. You can stop pretending, you piece of shit" Justin was screaming at him with so much rage all of sudden, in a way Noah had never seen anyone react before. He had no idea what this was about but he was starting to get seriously freaked out. "Just fuck you."

And after that, Justin stormed out.

* * *

><p>Rachel looked at her watch and it was already 3pm. She started running until she reached the theater where today's audition would be. God, she had almost gotten there late; that could not happen.<p>

"Number 34!", the stage manager called, a couple of hours later. She had been there sitting on a terribly uncomfortable chair for two hours, observing other girls sing, act and look simply stunning. Now it was finally her turn and she didn't really feel like she would impress the jury; lately, she never did.

"So, what are you going to sing, 34?", the producer asked her, as she stepped on stage. Everyone in that jury automatically started evaluating her looks, checking if she was good enough for this. She knew they thought she didn't; she thought that too.

God, what was she even _doing_?

Old Rachel Barbra Berry would not doubt herself.

Old Rachel Barbra Berry would have told that very rude producer not to call her thirty-four, because her name wasn't thirty-four. Her name was Rachel Berry, and she did not settle for this kind of treatment; she did not settle for people constantly calling her by a number instead of her name.

Apparently though, the new Rachel Berry did.

"I'm going to sing Funny Girl, it's one of my dream solos from one of my favo-", she stopped talking when she realized none of those people cared about her dreams, or musical preferences. Boy, she missed having people to talk to about those things. Well, she had all those Juilliard students, but it wasn't that nice to talk with them about this; they all cared more about themselves than the people around them, same way she did, so they all ended up not ever truly listening to what she had to say. She missed having people to talk to about Barbra and how amazing she was, how she was her all time biggest idol; she missed having people to talk to about… Well, about everything. She missed Kurt Hummel; she missed him so much. She had screwed up with him though; just like she had screwed up with Noah.

_No, Rachel, don't think about Noah, _she ordered herself. He was part of her past, right? Thinking about him would only be a waste of time.

"Go ahead", the producer told her.

She started singing and she did it with all she had. With all her voice, with all her heart, with every inch of her vocal chords, with anything and everything she had on that little talented body of hers.

And she was amazing.

She was better than Shelby. Yes, she still remembered that one time at the Carmel High Shool when, along with Quinn and Mercedes, she had watched her birth mother perform this song. And now, she was singing it and she knew she was doing it better than her; and she was doing it almost as well as Barbra.

_Almost._

Since when was _almost_ good enough for these Broadway producers?

Since when was _almost_ good enough for anyone?

"Okay, thirty-four, that's enough", a black man sitting beside the producer said, when Rachel was only half way through the song. "Expect a call by next week."

She thanked them, grabbed her purse from the chair she had been sitting on all afternoon, and left the theater. She knew they wouldn't call; they never did. If they had enjoyed her performance, they would have let her sing the whole song.

_Dammit._

Would she even make something in Broadway? She had thought she would, eventually, even if it took a while. But, boy, she had been trying for years. And during all this time, all she had achieved was a little show in a really small theater that wasn't even Broadway or Off-Broadway or anything; it was just a stupid show in a stupid theater no one even cared about.

No one really cared about her either. Her teachers at Juilliard told her she was really talented, but they always found something in her that needed to be changed or worked on. Either her stage presence, or her stage faces, or her lip biting when finishing singing an important solo, _or her looks_.

It was mostly her looks.

"Fuc- Crap!" she muttered, when she accidentally smacked her right foot into a tree. "Crap!" Her shoe looked terrible now! It had cost her more than she could pay for, and now it was all deformed. "Crap, crap, crap!" she yelled, not even caring about all the people passing by and staring at her.

You know what?

She was not famous. She was not a Broadway star. Her huge shoe disaster wouldn't be photographed by dozens of paparazzi, neither would it be on People Magazine's next issue. She was just a normal girl, walking down Broadway with her messy shoes and shouting _crap _over and over again. Who cared? Who would stop by to take pictures of her and sell them to the most well-known magazines? Who would help her and take advantage of the occasion to ask for an autograph? Who would stare at her not because of the ridiculousness of the situation but because they knew her and they admired her and wanted to take a picture with the famous Rachel Barbra Berry?

No one.

So, she could do whatever she felt like doing.

If she felt like running into trees all day, she would. If she felt like shouting _crap_ in the middle of the street all day, she would. Or, you know what, strike that – she wouldn't shout _crap_. Who even uses the word _crap_? Maybe important people that needed to watch their language. But she didn't need to; no one knew her, no one would give a crap- a fuck! – no one would give a fuck if she cursed in the middle of the street. That's right, if she felt like saying _fuck_, she would. Even if people wanted to judge her, who cared? She sure didn't; she was not ruining her image or her reputation, because she had none. You only have a reputation if people know you; these people didn't. No one did.

So she kept shouting. She shouted _damn_, _fuck_, _shit_. She shouted all day, since the shoe disaster by that tree until she got home a few minutes later. And when she got home, she shouted a bit more.

She was tired of always being so perfect, so in control, so everything-everyone-else-wanted-her-to-be, and still being seen as a huge nothing.

And it felt good, you know? To lose it, to act crazy, even if just for one day. It felt good.

* * *

><p>There were three cops – or officers, or whatever you call those dudes who work for the FBI – standing by his dorm's door. They had arrived a couple minutes ago, with guns pointed at him.<em> Guns, dammit.<em> What had he done to get pointed at by three guns?

Well, nothing. He had done nothing, but apparently these dudes thought he had done something, something _bad_.

He asked them what the hell was happening, but they just told him to keep his hands visible or something. He knew that was what they told criminals before arresting them; he had seen it in hundreds of movies. But he wasn't a criminal, for God's sake.

"You're coming with us", the tallest cop said, getting ready to force Noah out of his dorm.

"Wait, wait" he asked them. They didn't seem to want to wait. "Come on, what the hell? What did I do?"

What had he done? What could this be about? Noah had done everything right since he had gotten to Chicago; he had practically been an exemplary student and person and everything. This had to be a mistake.

"Dude, come on, what the hell is this about?" he insisted.

The tall cop faced Noah shaking his head, looked at the bald cop next to him and nodded. The bald guy turned to Puck and said those stupid words they always say in movies that might be the ones Noah was less expecting to ever hear.

"You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will be held against you in court."

_What the hell?_


End file.
